Rose Howard is my favorite, and the best author I will ever know. Reading her books was the thing that brought me back to life when I felt like my life was falling apart.

And today, my life isn’t falling apart, but this bus sure is. My class and I are on a trip to some weird ‘museum’ place to time travel because apparently letting high school students go back in time is perfectly okay as long as your parents sign the permission slip. The world is so confusing. Two years ago there were huge protests against the whole ‘making time travel happen’ thing in the first place, but now it’s 2087 and people are suddenly okay with sending juniors back to 2073 for a ‘fun’ field trip.

So far, there is nothing fun about this bus ride. My class is full of run-off-the-mouth idiots who can’t sit still for the life of them. Most of them joined the class just for the graduation requirement. And there’s another reason why I think this whole thing is bull; some idiot is probably gonna change the future in some way. My ears will be ringing by the time I get off this damn bus, the poor teacher’s trying her best to get the worst kids under control, but nothing is working in her favor.

The guy next to me, Kyle, is so obnoxious, I’m up against the window trying to dodge his elbows as he play-fights with his friend across the aisle. The golden pendant on my necklace is digging into my skin uncomfortably and I’m tempted to kick Kyle into his little buddy just so I can have some room to breathe.

The pendant was from my mother. Well, it became mine when she passed away a few years back. There was some freak accident on the road and she got caught in it. It was the worst birthday gift I could’ve asked for. Mom said there was one more gift she had to pick up for me, and then she got in the car and never came back.

The only thing that reminded me of her and didn’t feel like hell was reading books by Rose Howard. Mom was the one who introduced me to her books, and when I read them it was like a part of her was still around.

I let out a sigh as I turned my head to stare out the window. Not even two trees could pass by before Kyle crashed into me. “Oh–I’m so sorry. BRO–Look what you just did! You made me bump into Mark!” Kyle laughed, further ruining my mood.

My name is Max, and I hope Kyle falls and breaks his teeth on the musty bus chair he keeps shoving his buddy into.

***

Walking through this weird misty blue tunnel summons goosebumps all over my arms as my class and I travel back in time. The little ‘portal’ we had to walk through was a lot less impressive than I thought it would be. Though the motion of the misty-like stuff surrounding us is pretty cool.

There’s a small gust of wind before we’re flashed with the bright light of New York’s sun from 2073. Busy cars drive through the streets as my classmates gawk at all the tall buildings. They had everyone wear special tracking bracelets to know where everyone is at all times. If someone is more than twenty feet from our teacher, their bracelet’s light will go red and we’ll have to stop and look for them. I mean, it’s a great idea, but then again, why would anyone think it was a good idea in general to send untrained teenagers to the past?

Sure, we’re engineering students studying this stuff, but we’re students. Knowing this class, someone is bound to get lost. I wonder which idiot will wander off first.

***

I fear I’m lost. . .My bracelet's light has gone red and I’ve never wanted to eat my words so badly in my life. I will admit this is my fault though. . .I spotted someone that looked exactly like the main character from one of Rose Howard’s books–my favorite of hers by the way–which is why I’m now sitting on a bench groveling because never in my life did I think I would humble myself by letting nerdy book thoughts win.

I spotted the girl, and her outfit immediately reminded me of the description we were given for Birdie in Rose Howard’s first book which was released this year. Technically, since, y’know, we’re time traveling. I thought “neat, it’d be cool if she were Rose’s inspiration for her main character. It’d be funny if I met Rose Howard here,” I swear I only stopped for a second but by the time I looked up, my class was gone. I can’t believe nerd thoughts got me lost. Besides, Rose Howard grew up somewhere else, I don’t know why I even had stupid thoughts like those. I was being delusional, that’s is why I got lost, this is so humiliating, I hate this, this whole situation is so unbelievably–

I can’t finish my thought before a piece of paper gets blown into the back of my head by the wind. I grab the paper before it can fall and stare at it. It’s a drawing of the girl who looked like Birdie. My eyes go wide as I can barely process the drawing before a voice speaks to me.

“Sorry, that’s mine.” The voice says, a hand reaching for the paper. It’s a relatively young girl with dirty blonde hair and hazel eyes. She smiles as I hand the paper back to her. She stared at me for a moment like she wanted to say something but then she turned back around to the small table the rest of her stuff was at.

I was about to let her go, but something bubbled up in my throat. “That’s a good drawing,” I blurt before I can think, immediately striking myself with regret. I don’t know why in god’s name I spoke, but she turned around. “D-Did you draw it yourself?” Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up–I don’t know why I’m talking right now. Do I think she’s Rose Howard? That’s stupid!

“Uh, yeah. I like to draw people I find interesting. . .” She says, her tone just as awkward as mine.

“Cool. . .” I say, trying to end the conversation.

She stays quiet for a moment before slowly taking a step towards me, “Do you happen to read?” She asks.

“Sorry?” I respond, confused.

“I just need a few opinions on something, and y’know, since we’re talking I figured I should ask.” She says, her tone going a bit sheepish, like she’s trying to decipher whether continuing the conversation was a good idea.

A small smile creeps onto my face, “Okay.” It’s been a long time since I’ve had a conversation about books.

She reciprocates my smile before taking a seat next to me. “If the main character of a story had a bad relationship with her mother, do you think making her make up with her mom would make the audience feel more emotion? Or should the relationship stay bad and have that make the audience emotional?” The farther she got in her question, the clearer her embarrassment was. My eyes must’ve gone wide because she quickly spoke again, “I-I’m just trying to write something and I’ve been stuck on this for a while. I just needed to ask someone, a-anyone. . .”

I will admit her question caught me a little off guard. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that. . .Maybe this girl is Rose Howard or something. . .No, she’s not, that’s dumb. “. . .Well, making the daughter and mother make up could make a turn in the plot that makes your audience feel something. . .Given their relationship is bad, I would assume the audience would eventually get tired of all the fighting. If they make up it could give your audience a new perspective, y’know?” Surprisingly, I had more to say on this than I thought, and given the look on the girl’s face it looks like she appreciates it.

She smiles and takes out a small notebook, “Gotcha. . .” She murmurs, scribbling down a few things. “Thank you. I’m sorry if this was awkward or anything, my friend who usually helps me with this isn’t here since I’m out of town and I just really needed a quick opinion.” She laughs awkwardly.

“No problem.” I smile as I watch her write, her eyes away from me. I don’t know why, but this conversation has me thinking about my mother. . .I stare at the pendent around my neck, memories of my fifteenth birthday coming to mind. . .Mom walking out the door to her car. . .

“If I were your main character, I would try to make up with the mom. Y’know, since she may not always be around.” I blurted, unaware that I had spoken until the girl looked up at me, her eyes a bit wide and her pen still. I stayed silent, feeling a little embarrassed that I spoke unintentionally. Though, what I said seemed to have more effect on her than it did me.

“. . .I see.” She says, clicking off her pen and closing her notebook. Her eyes drift to the ground as gears turn in her head.

I open my mouth to speak again, but there’s a voice barking my name before I can say anything. “Max! Where did you go!?” My teacher yells, her face full of worry and my classmates staring at me from behind her.

I shoot up, my eyes going wide. I had completely forgotten I was on a field trip. I quickly turn back to the girl, a nervous sweat forming on my forehead. “Uh, bye.” I mutter before hurrying to my teacher.

“You better thank God for these bracelets, if you hadn’t had one on we would’ve never known you were gone! You’re staying right by my side for the rest of the trip!” My teacher’s concern turns into frustration as my classmates snicker and my face goes hot.

I mutter apologies as she continues to chew me out, my eyes remaining glued to the ground as we walk away from the girl on the bench.

❁❁❁

I watch the boy walk away as the lady yells at him, his head hanging and his ears red. I don’t know why, but what he said before he left has me thinking. A lot. And not about the story I’m trying to write, about my mom. . .That question was supposed to help me think about my writing, but now there’s this strong urge to talk to my mother. . .We’re not on good terms, we never really have been, that’s what inspired me to start writing this book. But something about the look on that boy’s face. . .

“Y’know, since she may not always be around.” His words repeat endlessly in my head as I think about my mother. I always wanted a good relationship with her. . .All of my attempts have failed so far. . .Maybe one more attempt couldn’t hurt.

I pick up my phone and find my mother’s name in my contacts. I stare at her name for a long moment before clicking the call button and placing the phone by my ear.

The moments of ringing get my heart pounding before there’s a click and another voice.

“Rose?”

***

Walking home feels like sweet relief after that field trip. Never have I ever been put through such humiliation by any of my teachers. . .I turn into a bookstore and head for my favorite aisle. I scan the shelves, searching for Rose Howard’s name. I could use a good read, and I know she had a new book coming out soon.

I furrow my brows at all the unfamiliar titles. Rose’s name isn’t anywhere to be found. After a few more minutes of searching, I sigh and retreat. Maybe they reorganized or something, I’m too beat to try and find where they put her books instead. I pass by the front desk, glancing at the pre-ordered books waiting to be picked up.

My heart sinks a little and I think about Mom. Turns out, Mom was heading to the bookstore that day. She was going to pick up a Rose Howard book, that was my gift. A bit ironic that I still love her writing after all that.

I walk out the door and continue on my way home, disappointed and downhearted. As I approach my house, I let out a long sigh and reach for my pendant. My hand meets my bare neck as my stomach drops. The pendant is gone.

I stopped dead in my tracks on my front porch as the panic began to sink in. I search my pockets, I turn around and scan the sidewalk, I throw off my bag and dig through it, it’s nowhere to be found. Did I drop it at the bookstore? On my way home? When we were on the trip? God, what if it’s still in 2073? So flustered by the missing pendant, I don’t notice my father pull into the driveway.

“Max? What are you doing?” He asks, leaning over me with a smile as my hands still frantically search in my bag.

“T-The pendant, it’s gone, I don’t know where it went. . .” I say, voice nearly a whisper as my eyes begin to feel hot.

“Pendant? What pendant?”

I feel shocked he has to ask. Dad knows Mom’s pendant is important to me. It’s important to the both of us. “Mom’s pendant, I don’t know where it went!” I exclaim, my frustration rising as I turn to my father.

He furrows his brows. “Mom’s pendant? Why would you have Mom’s pendant?”

I freeze. So confused and so flustered by Dad’s weird questions, I can’t even comprehend what he’s asking me. “What do you mean? Y-You gave me Mom’s pendant when she–”

“What’s with all the commotion?” The familiar voice makes time feel slow as my words get caught in my throat. I turn to the source of the voice, my eyes wide. “Are you guys okay?” My mother asks, the golden pendant dangling from her neck.

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